Lucifer opened the passenger door with a flourish that made the whole thing look less like escaping a ruined wedding and more like the beginning of a very expensive scandal. Amanda hesitated for half a second, glancing back toward the garden where phones were still pointed in their direction and Jimmy Barnes looked seconds away from swallowing his own tongue.
"After you, runaway bride," Lucifer said with a charming smile.
Amanda gave him a shaky laugh before lowering herself into the Corvette, careful with the wedding dress as she gathered the fabric across her lap. Lucifer closed the door gently, then walked around the front of the car. He gave them a cheerful little wave, because if people were going to record him, they deserved a proper performance.
He slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.
"So," he said, looking toward Amanda, "clear something up for me. How did a supermodel end up with that human stain? I would prefer an honest answer."
Lucifer tilted his head slightly, waiting without pushing her, letting the silence stretch just enough for her to fill it herself.
She swallowed, then continued.
"I was let go."
Lucifer's brows lifted a fraction, the first real sign of surprise crossing his face.
"Let go?" he repeated, slower now.
Amanda nodded, her voice tightening with embarrassment she had clearly rehearsed hiding in public but never quite mastered in private.
"They said I put on a few pounds. That was it. One season I was walking their runway, the next I was out."
Lucifer blinked once, then glanced at her properly for the first time since she got into the car.
Amanda Bello looked like something sculpted out of intention and light. Even sitting there, exhausted and shaken, she still carried the effortless symmetry of someone who had lived under cameras for too long.
"That is…" Lucifer started, then paused as if searching for a word that did not insult the universe. "...absolutely absurd. Are they blind?"
Amanda gave a small shrug, but it came out more like surrender than agreement.
"It is the industry," she said. "They are strict. Height, weight, measurements. If you miss one mark, you are gone."
Lucifer's grip on the wheel tightened slightly, though his tone stayed deceptively casual.
"And then what? You simply disappear?"
Amanda gave a faint, humorless smile.
"Pretty much. Once you are dropped from a name like that, nobody else wants to take the risk. Agencies do not care if you were great last year. They care about whether you will fit the next campaign perfectly."
Lucifer sighed.
"So you were discarded," he said softly, more to himself than her.
Amanda gave a little smile. "That is one way to put it."
"And Jimmy Barnes?" he asked.
Amanda hesitated before answering.
"I had no options left," she admitted. "After that, no agency would want me. Jimmy's label offered connections and a couple of projects. He said he could relaunch me. So I thought… maybe it was better than disappearing completely."
Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
"It was just me trying to survive in the industry because this is the only thing I am good at," she added.
"That's not survival," he said. "That's extortion dressed up as opportunity."
Amanda was surprised by the firmness in his tone.
"You were never the problem. You were just surrounded by people who treated you like a product that could be returned."
Amanda's throat tightened slightly, and she looked away, blinking hard as if annoyed by her own reaction.
Lucifer leaned back in his seat. "Well," he added more lightly, though the anger had not fully left his voice, "that explains the human stain situation."
He finally pulled the car away from the curb, letting a brief stretch of silence settle between them as the city moved past in the distance.
"You're really going to help me?" she asked softly.
Lucifer glanced at her for a moment before returning his gaze forward. "Not help, more like a favor. You will owe me one."
Amanda tilted her head slightly, as if the word favor had already started turning into something else in her mind. "Are we going to have sex? I'm still wearing my wedding dress."
'Don't tempt me, girl,' Lucifer let out a short, amused breath, the corner of his mouth lifting without effort. "Not now, darling. I am really busy today."
That answer should have ended it.
It did not.
Amanda leaned in closer instead, the distance between them shrinking until her voice brushed against his ear. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "I'm wearing bridal lingerie under this dress and it's hot."
Before he could respond, she kissed the side of his neck, slow and unguarded, like impulse had completely overtaken judgment.
Lucifer eased the car toward a bus stop and brought it to a stop. Then he turned toward her and gently touched her chin, guiding her face so she would meet his eyes properly.
"Meet me at Lux in two days," he said, voice steady. "We will discuss that favor then. Right now..."
Amanda held his gaze, waiting for something more, something she clearly expected but did not receive. Her expression lingered between hope and frustration, like she was standing at the edge of a door that refused to open further.
Lucifer reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, placing it into her hand.
"Take a cab home and sleep," he added. "Do not answer Jimmy's calls. And if you see him at your door, do not open it. Call the cops."
Amanda blinked, pulled slightly out of the haze around her. "Huh? Cops?"
Lucifer's eyes stayed on her, calm but absolute. "Trust me. He's not a good person."
That broke through it properly.
For the first time since she got into the car, Amanda seemed to fully register how close she had been, how quickly she had moved, and how strangely heavy the atmosphere between them had become. She gave a small, shaky nod, accepting the bill.
"Thank you," she said quietly. 'Get a grip, girl. HE IS SO FUCKING HOT! Damn it! I'm drippin' down there.'
Lucifer gave a faint nod in return, then let her go.
She stepped out of the car and looked around for a cab. She looked back once as if expecting him to call her again.
He did not.
Lucifer waited until she got into a cab and then drove toward the rapper's house.
...
...
[2Vile's Estate]
Lucifer stepped out of his car first, smoothing his suit as if the entire encounter had already been scheduled and merely needed his attendance. He pressed the doorbell.
The sound that followed was a deep, ceremonial GONG that rolled through the mansion like it was announcing something far more important than a drug dealer's afternoon schedule.
A moment later, the door opened.
A white English butler stood perfectly framed in the doorway, posture straight, expression neutral, the kind of man who had clearly witnessed too much wealth to still be impressed by it.
"Good afternoon, sir," the butler said.
Lucifer gave him a polite nod. "I'm here to see the man sadly known as 2Vile. Is he in?"
"I'm afraid he is unavailable," the butler replied. "He is currently in mourning."
Lucifer tilted his head slightly. "How unfortunate. I have narcotics for him."
There was a beat of silence.
The butler's expression did not change, but something in his decision-making clearly did.
"Right this way, sir."
Lucifer smiled as he followed him inside.
The interior of 2Vile's home was exactly what he expected and somehow still worse in execution. Modern art furniture that looked stolen from a museum, skyline views that screamed money, and a living room designed entirely around the concept of being seen rather than being lived in.
The bass from loud hip-hop rattled through the walls. Smoke hung in the air like a permanent resident. Weapons, weed, and designer chaos were scattered across every surface like props in a lifestyle documentary that had gotten out of hand.
A giant plasma screen played breaking news.
Delilah's shooting.
Lucifer's eyes flicked to it for half a second before he sighed.
"Could someone please turn down this godawful music?"
The request barely registered with the room.
Then movement shifted through the haze.
2Vile appeared.
Tattooed, expensive, irritated, and surrounded by the kind of aura that tried very hard to look dangerous without actually understanding what danger meant. He stared at Lucifer like he had wandered in from the wrong genre.
"Who's this clown?" he asked.
The butler answered calmly. "He has narcotics for you, sir."
Lucifer smiled. "My name is Lucifer Morningstar."
That got a reaction.
2Vile leaned back slightly. "Lucifer Morningstar. That's a good hip hop name."
Lucifer blinked once, offended on principle. "That is not a compliment I enjoy receiving."
"What, you don't like hip hop?"
"Not in the slightest," Lucifer replied immediately.
A beat passed.
2Vile frowned. "That offends me. You got a problem with black people?"
Lucifer's smile sharpened just a fraction. "Not in the slightest. I simply dislike your music. And when I say your music, I mean yours specifically. Without the blues, there would be no devil's music at all, and there are many giants in the field of artistry. You are not among them. Am I being clear?"
Silence dropped hard into the room.
Then 2Vile's expression darkened.
"You're gonna get yourself killed."
Lucifer's body moved before the threat fully finished forming.
One second he was standing casually, the next he was inside the man's space. A sharp shove followed. 2Vile went crashing through a glass door and out toward the balcony, the impact loud enough to snap the entire room into panic.
Someone fired a shot on instinct.
The bullet hit nothing but air and railing.
"Don't shoot him, you idiot!" 2Vile screamed as Lucifer caught him mid-collapse by his chains and hauled him up over the balcony edge.